


The Quality of Mercy

by theisleisfullofnoises



Series: Naruto Short Fics and Fusions [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Hunting is the Senju Family Business, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampires are Monsters, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 06:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19420402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theisleisfullofnoises/pseuds/theisleisfullofnoises
Summary: For a man so feared by his kind, the Senju bled like any human.





	The Quality of Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was edited under the label: "Oh My God Why Did I Write This" Vampire AU

For a man so feared by his kind, the Senju bled like any human.

The multitude of scratches and bites seeped and smeared red across the hunter’s moon-pale skin, shadowed by the darkening bruises at his throat, wrists, hips. A tender, ruddy cock stood out starkly against the glistening white of forced release painting his thighs and stomach.

There was a beauty to it, the pain and tormented ecstasy splayed across the blood-ruined sheets, pinned under the moonlight like a butterfly crafted of silver and rubies.

Madara hated him all the more for it.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he observed silkily, hands stroking up trembling thighs and easing them further apart, feeling the strain of muscles tense around him. “Getting tired, pet?” He changed the angle of the next thrust, grinding deep, and was rewarded with a thin, whispery moan.

The little hunter’s voice had broken long before his spirit. Stubbornness, it seemed, was a Senju trait. 

It wouldn’t make a difference in the end, of course, but still. It was impressive.

Madara rolled his hips, pace leisurely. Sliding one hand along quivering muscle, he pressed into a particularly deep bruise curling around one hip. The hitch of a choked-off groan sent a curl of pleasure through him.

Generally speaking, Madara wasn’t one to draw things out; he preferred his hunts to be quick ( _merciful,_ he had told Hashirama once, though his naive, oh-so-human friend had not quite agreed).

Playing with one’s food had been more of Izuna’s preference—how he’d loved to make a game of it, a lurid mockery of courtship with flattering words and the seduction of secrets to be revealed. He’d claimed once that nothing could give greater satisfaction than to see the slow, helpless dawn of horror in a lover’s eyes as they realized just what monster they had welcomed into their bed.

Madara had told him it was a reckless and needlessly complicated habit. Izuna had nagged at Madara to stop brooding and have more fun with the base necessities of their existence.

He wondered, with another roll of his hips, if Izuna would have been proud to see him now.

Of course, thanks to the man gasping beneath him, he would never know.

With that thought, the slow pace abruptly wasn’t enough, and Madara wrenched the hunter’s hips higher, snarling as he drove in. He ignored the choked gasp, the hands scrabbling and scratching at his chest and arms as he set a brutal rhythm, flesh impacting under punishing strength. The fresh scent of his own blood drifting into the air only accented the tight, smooth drag of muscles already eased and slicked for him.

He’d been oh-so-careful at the start, moved through the preparations with the meticulousness of a new lover. How he had savored the first shocked climax, feeling the hunter flutter and clench around his fingers even as the man had struggled to strangle his cries.

The rage that had boiled in the other man’s blood had been sweet.

Madara wanted to taste something else now.

“Ah-ah.” Madara paused, reaching up to smack a hand against on red-streaked cheek when the hunter’s eyes went glassy and distant. “No passing out. I’ve got plans for tonight and you’ll spoil them.” He turned the gesture of into a mimicry of a caress, stroking along a swollen, blood-smeared lower lip, pressing into a split, before seizing the sharp chin to force eye-contact. “Or do I need to give you another drink?”

That had been rather fun. As an aphrodisiac, vampire blood was unrivaled. But Madara preferred to see clarity in his partners' eyes.

Tobirama shuddered and blinked at him, hazy gaze slowly, painfully coming into focus.

Then he spat a glob of blood-stained saliva right into the vampire’s face.

Madara frowned at him, lifting a hand to thumb it away. After a moment’s contemplation, he brought the digit up to his mouth.

_No_ , he pondered, rolling the flavor over his tongue. _Not quite there._

The pained, startled sound the Senju made as Madara pulled out quickly grew to a jagged shout as he was slammed into the headboard by the neck. The impact shook the whole bed, sending the mess of books and sundries on the bedside table tumbling everywhere, joining the ragged shreds of clothing and scattered weapons on the floor.

Amidst the tumbling objects, a battered silver crucifix slipped down onto the bed.

The gleam of metal, half-hidden in the sheets, captured the attention of a scarlet gaze.

“I was trying to be kind,” Madara sighed, grip tight enough to strangle any harsh gasps into silence, “but you are truly beginning to try my patience.” With a negligent gesture, he tossed the man back onto the sheets to land on his front.

“I could have killed you the moment you came home,” he noted, pinning the hunter down before he could even try to rise. “I could have torn open your guts and left to you rot. Plucked out your eyes and made you swallow them. Made you wings of your ribcage and hung you to suffocate.” A rough gesture lifted pale hips, and Madara leaned in close.

“I still could, Senju,” Madara murmured against sticky skin, “It would just as easy, easier, than this. So maybe you should show me a little _gratitude_.” He lined himself up and stopped. Waiting.

There was a long moment of tense hesitation, and then slowly, resistantly, the hips pushed back to take him in.

Madara hid his grin in white hair, and showed his own appreciation in a full, throaty groan. “That’s it, pet. Go on, fuck yourself on my cock _.”_

A shudder ran up the spine beneath him but, slowly the hunter obeyed, building up in a steady, mindless rhythm. Calculatingly, Madara used a grip on one hip to change the angle, and was rewarded with a sharp sound and a faltering clench. “Don’t stop now, you’re doing so well,” he crooned, and his hands pulled, forcing the pace harder, faster, even as the Senju spasmed around him with every push. “I can feel you getting close. Fuck, you’re still so tight. I want to feel you come.”

One of Tobirama’s hands started sliding, trembling, across the sheets.

“I really was going to kill you,” Madara groaned, feeling the pull starting his gut, and he slipped a hand down to curl between the Senju’s legs. “Split you open and leave you for Hashirama to find, like a broken toy, like _Izuna_ ,” his hand tightened vice-like on the Senju’s cock, stealing a sharp cry, “but that would have been such a waste, wouldn’t it? You came for me so prettily that first time. Fought me so hard in spite of it. I knew then I could do so much more with you.” He eased his grip, stroking, and grinned to hear the involuntary groan as the cock in his hand began to weep precum.

The pale hand slid a little farther.

It was just as Madara’s hips started twitching in uncontrolled movements, release fast approaching, that the questing grasp finally reached its prize.

But as pale fingers wrapped around silver, Madara’s own descended, trapping the weapon between their hands in a twisted imitation of a lover’s clasp. The very same moment, the vampire sank his fangs deeply into the man’s neck.

He drank.

Tobirama writhed under his grip, lips parting in a voiceless scream as he tried to pull away, tried to escape from the pain, and Madara fucked into the hot, trembling grip of him until, gasping, he came.

From beneath him came a high protesting noise, like the whine of a dog.

Groaning as he continued to twitch inside the other man, Madara pulled his fangs free with the same ease as he pulled the crucifix from the other man’s hand.

Heedless of the sizzling burn of his skin, he lifted the crucifix, examining its gleam in the moonlight. “Such a clever boy,” he mused, poisonously cheerful. “Your reputation doesn’t do you justice, little hunter, but I’m afraid the time for your tricks is over.” He bent to whisper against bloody lips. “You can’t escape me now, Tobirama.”

Tobirama didn’t respond to the taunt, or to the thud of silver striking the floor as the vampire threw the crucifix across the room. He was too busy staring at the empty hand that had clung to the crucifix so desperately before Madara had torn it away.

This time, the sound he made when Madara slid gentle fingers around his raw, swollen cock was truly broken. Madara buried a grin against his neck as, once more, he began to move.

Laving a tongue over a weeping bite, Madara savored the bitter despair.

~ ~ ~

Hashirama kicked down the down the door and entered with weapons raised. “Where is he?!”

From the thick, crawling shadows of the house came a low, rolling chuckle. “ _No warm hellos for your old friend now, Hashirama?_ ”

“Madara,” Hashirama’s voice seemed strange without its usual cheer, like an instrument out of tune. He moved carefully into the house, searching with his blessed crossbow pointing into the shadows. “Where’s my brother?”

He tried the lights. They didn’t work.

“ _Ah, yes…_ ” The sound was almost a hiss, sibilant and inhuman. “ _Little brothers. So easy to take for granted. It’s not until the moment you lose him that you really start to wonder how much you would do for him. How far you would go to avenge his death._ ”

A tremor ran through Hashirama, even if his hands didn’t waver. “You know it wasn’t— Izuna targeted _him_ , Madara,” he said, words rushed. “Tobirama would have died if he hadn’t defended himself.” He made his way towards the main bedroom, feet picking up speed.

“ _Perhaps. Or perhaps not. I suppose we’ll never know, now._ ”

“I know you wouldn’t want to hurt him, Madara,” he said, desperation harsh in his throat. “You always spoke about the _good_ we could do. You believed our kinds should forgive each—"

He froze, gazing catching at the crumpled pile of pale skin on the blood stained sheets.

“No,” he moaned, half denial, half plea.

_“He_ hunted _Izuna, Hashirama,”_ the words throbbed through the house itself. “ _Just what did you think I would_ do _?_ ”

Hashirama screamed, fury twisting his features as he lifted his crossbow, ready to fire blindly into the shadows—

“Anija...?”

The voice from the bed was thin and broken, but unmistakable.

Hashirama’s face went completely blank, uncomprehending, for a heartbeat.

Then he threw himself across the room.

“Tobirama?!” he almost wept as he threw aside the crossbow to reach out him. He swept his brother, his precious little brother, into his arms, even as the younger man groaned in protest of his clumsily handling. “Tobi, are you—where are you injured?

“ _I’m a little hurt, Hashirama_ ,” the shadows murmured around them. “ _All that talk of friendship, brotherhood without blood, even welcoming me into your very home, and yet you are still so quick to doubt me_.”

“Anjia,” Tobirama whispered, voice cracking, hardly seeming conscious as he curled into Hashirama’s arms, eyes clenched against the pain from all the wounds he must have, covered as he was in blood. “Anija, it hurts.”

“I’ve got you,” Hashirama promised hoarsely, already shifting to lift the younger man. “I’ve got you, Tobi, and we'll get you all fixed—“

Hashirama stopped.

“ _Something the matter, Hashirama_?”

“Madara,” he said, words falling numb from his lips as he stared down into his brother’s face. “What have you done?”

Tobirama felt so cold in his arms.

“ _What I should have done for you on_ _the day you first_ called me brother.”

The last words were breathed against the back of his neck and too slow, too late, Hashirama tried to turn.

“Wake up, Tobirama.” Madara’s croon was gentle and low his ear, but the black-gloved hands where implacable as steel as they cradled Hashirama’s chin. “You’re keeping your Anija waiting.”

Slowly, porcelain-pale hands reached up to fist into the collar of Hashirama’s shirt. In the moonlight, a burn in the shape of a crucifix gleamed on the meat of one palm.

Garnet eyes fluttered open, bright and hungry as fire, to settle onto the exposed curve of the nearest throat.

Madara’s chuckle was filled with delight. “That’s right, Tobirama,” he said as pale lips parted in thirst.

“Let’s give Hashirama a proper welcome to the family.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am rather acutely embarrassed to have written this. I, ah, this is a bit off my usual writing track. 
> 
> In any case, thanks for stopping by! Comments are always appreciated, and if you have some critique to share I live off that like the masochist I am, please feel free to leave it in the comments or you can email me directly at the address on my profile.
> 
> Now I think I'll go write something sweet and fun.


End file.
